


The Reckless and The Brave

by RoseByAnyOtherName17



Series: The Lion, the Wolf and the Dragon [23]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hostage Situations, Tower of Joy, Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-01
Updated: 2018-09-01
Packaged: 2019-07-05 15:34:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15866532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoseByAnyOtherName17/pseuds/RoseByAnyOtherName17
Summary: "You're right," Arya said. "I was never truly alone in Westeros, Ser Jaime. But I was in Essos, and it was no less cruel."They capture Jaime Lannister and Myrcella Baratheon.





	The Reckless and The Brave

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! I know it's been awhile, and I just want y'all to know that I've started school again and might not have as much time for writing. I'll update as I can, but it probably won't be as frequent as over the summer. Hope you guys enjoy this!

They captured Jaime and Myrcella Lannister the very night they arrived at the Tower of Joy.

 

They’d barely settled into the Tower when two figures appeared at the end of the path towards Dorne. They hadn’t even gotten a fire going, had hardly done anything but put the horses in the lowest room, when one of the Tyrell men saw them coming. “Looks like two people on one horse,” he said, squinting a little in the dying light of sunset. “Both…blond, I think.”

 

The three Tyrell men that Lady Olenna insisted on sending hid upstairs, in the highest room. Arya and Gendry waited with the horses, who were thankfully silent, if a little uneasy with Nymeria. “Go meet them,” Arya whispered to the direwolf. To Gendry, “Let’s see if Jaime Lannister is smart enough to know what a direwolf means these days.”

 

The sun dipped below the mountains before the Lannisters arrived, casting a dim red glow on the Tower. _Like blood,_ Arya thought as a scream erupted from outside. Her aunt Lyanna had died here, she remembered now. She wondered how much blood she had lost before she succumbed.

 

She stepped out of the Tower. Jaime Lannister was on the ground, sword held in his left hand pointed at Nymeria. Myrcella remained on the horse, clutching the reins as if she was ready to bolt. “Stand down, girl,” Arya called. Nymeria straightened from her crouch immediately, but she continued to growl at the sword in her face. Jaime’s eyes flicked up briefly, narrowed in confusion more than fear. He took in Arya’s face, Gendry just behind her, and shifted his stance, though he didn’t move the sword away from the direwolf. “Who are you?” he asked calmly.

 

“You’re a smart man, Kingslayer,” Arya answered, and took smug satisfaction in the tiny flinch she received in return. “Even if you don’t remember me, you know enough to know my name.”

 

“Arya Stark,” but it wasn’t Jaime who spoke. “You’re Arya Stark.” Myrcella swung off of the horse with surprising grace, keeping the reins in hand.

 

Arya inclined her head to the girl. “I suppose you’re queen, now? Last living child of Robert Baratheon.”

 

Myrcella’s eyes darkened. “It doesn’t quite appear that way, does it?”

 

“Lower your sword,” Arya said to Jaime. “We’re not here to fight. And if we were, you would not win.” When he did nothing of the sort, she drew Needle from her waist, held lightly in her left hand as well.

 

He barked a laugh. “I may have lost my sword hand, but I would destroy you, girl.”

 

Gendry snorted out loud, nearly breaking Arya’s stiff face into a smile. “She beats me four times out of five, even with this,” he told Jaime, holding his hammer up. “She’s not the little girl you knew once, Lannister. And I know that, because she’s not the little girl I knew once either. She’s survived horrors that you and I can only dream of.”

 

“She seems to have all of her limbs intact,” Jaime mused. “Who protected you, Stark? You were presumed dead for so long. Was it this one here?” His tone was biting. “What did you give him in return?”

 

Arya reached behind her to take Gendry’s hand. She didn’t even have to look to know the fury his face would hold; she could feel it in the tension he held in his body. “Enough,” she said, to everyone. “We have men waiting in the Tower, a good many who would likely love to take the head of the man whose sister burned their beloved queen alive. Relinquish your weapons, and no harm will come to you. You are of much more use alive than dead to Daenerys Targaryen.”

 

“You serve the dragon queen now, hmm?” Jaime taunted. “That’s treason, Lady Stark.”

 

“So was burning the Sept of Baelor and killing your son and his wife,” Arya countered. “Power does come in strange ways these days, doesn’t it? Hand over your sword, Lannister. I won’t ask again.”

 

“Father,” Myrcella pleaded. “She’s right. Please, do as she says.”

 

A long, tense moment passed, broken by Nymeria letting loose a yawn and settling on her haunches, as though the whole affair bored her greatly. Jaime stared at Arya for a moment longer, looked back at Myrcella, and cursed before throwing his sword at Arya’s feet. He held up his hands, gold and flesh, in surrender.

 

“The knife in your boot as well,” Gendry ordered. Arya was briefly impressed; she hadn’t even noticed the gleam of steel where the man’s pants met his boot.

 

The knife joined the sword.

 

Arya crossed to Myrcella, sheathing Needle as she went. “I need to search you as well.”

 

“No need.” Myrcella lifted her dress to reveal a knife strapped to her thigh, and then reached into her collar and pulled out a throwing star. She handed both to Arya, and held out her arms so that Arya could pat her down one final time. Arya found a small vial filled with clear liquid under one arm and raised an eyebrow. “Tears of Lys,” Myrcella said unabashedly. “The Dornish gave it to me, just in case.” She didn’t say what “just in case” was.

 

Now that the danger had passed, Arya got a good look at both of the Lannisters. Both were drawn, Myrcella less so than Jaime. The latter had dark circles under his eyes, what promised to be a thick beard growing on his chin and cheeks. He was dressed in commoner clothes, leather armor peaking out at the end of his sleeves. He was not the devastatingly handsome man he had been all those years ago, but rugged, a little haunted. Arya wondered if she would ever meet anyone again that wasn’t haunted.

 

“Come inside,” she said quietly. “You both look like you could use a good meal and night’s rest.”

 

**

 

“‘Father,’ huh?” Arya said casually, sitting next to Myrcella next to the fire. She thought privately to herself that the girl needed more practical travelling clothes; the Dornish style dress, while pretty, would do nothing against the elements further north, or provide anything in the way of safety.

 

Myrcella shrugged. “I learned a lot in Dorne,” she said softly. “The culture there is…different, to say the least. Love is not so complicated as it is the rest of Westeros.” She nodded to Gendry, who was trying to get Jaime to eat something without much success. “You seem to have learned the same.”

 

Arya didn’t deny the subtle accusation. “Gendry and I have been through a lot together. I never truly believed in love, until him.” She glanced over at the other girl – woman. “Does it bother you?”

 

Myrcella understood. After a moment’s thought, she shook her head. “No. Robert Baratheon was…not much of a father. I don’t believe I ever had a real conversation with him. But Uncle Jaime – Father – never failed to show that he loved me. All of us, even Joffrey. I didn’t suspect until I arrived at Dorne, but I think I’m happy for it. I wouldn’t have understood anywhere else, but they taught me so much. I’ll miss it, in a way. They were kind, always.” She lowered her head. “What will you do to us?”

 

“Take you back to Highgarden and wait for Daenerys’ next order,” Arya said honestly. “If we hadn’t caught you, where would you be going?”

 

Myrcella shrugged. “All he ever said was ‘away,’” she responded. “I don’t think he trusts Mother to care for us anymore, not after…” She heaved a sigh and slumped forward, losing her ladylike posture for the first time. “She never even came for me. I waited every day for someone to come get me, even though I was in no danger in Dorne. When my father came, I thought she had sent him. But he said she didn’t. He came by himself.”

 

Arya chose her words very carefully. “Your mother is…not the same anymore. A certain madness seems to have taken her mind. When I came back to Westeros and learned that she took the crown for herself hardly a day after Tommen’s death, I knew she had no more care or love in her heart. That was the only thing I ever knew of her: was that she loved her children.”

 

“And now she loves no one but herself,” Myrcella finished. Her eyes shone in the firelight, and Arya worried she would cry, but instead she held out her hand. Arya glanced down at the flask in her hand, and back up, startled. An impatient gesture, and she handed it over. Myrcella took a long pull of it, only coughing a little bit getting it down. “I’d expected wine,” she admitted.

 

“The Tyrell men have some,” Arya said, “but I try not to drink it. I need to stay sharp.”

 

“And ale does not dull the mind?” Myrcella questioned, raising one perfect eyebrow.

 

Arya shrugged. “Just enough for sleep,” she allowed. “I don’t sleep well these days.”

 

Gendry crouched down between them. “Can you get your…uh, can you get Jaime to eat?” he asked of Myrcella.

 

She sighed. “He is a brave man, but foolish. You will not harm us.” She turned to Arya. “Thank you,” she said, and stood up to go to Jaime. For what she was thanking Arya for, she had no clue.

 

Gendry settled heavily in Myrcella’s place. “He’s not what I expected,” he admitted.

 

“Me neither.” The Jaime Lannister Arya remembered stood tall and proud, an arrogant smirk gracing his handsome, cleanshaven features, hair swept back from his forehead and golden armor sparkling. This man was none of that.

 

Gendry seemed to sense her troubles, and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. She pressed a kiss to his cheek and tucked her head into his neck, sighing. She was exhausted; they had ridden hard the whole way to the Tower of Joy and she was feeling the effects begin to come down on her. From the look of the rest of the men in the room, she wasn’t alone.

 

She allowed herself a few minutes there with Gendry before standing up and facing the rest of the room. “Gendry and I will take first watch,” she announced. To Jaime (who had finally eaten some of the stew) and Myrcella, “We’ll have to chain you to the wall. Is that going to be an issue?”

 

“Don’t chain Myrcella,” Jaime protested. “She’s done nothing wrong.”

 

“She’s a hostage, same as you,” Arya pointed out. “We’re not taking any risks.”

 

Jaime opened his mouth to argue more, despite the threatening looks sent in his direction by the Tyrell men, but Myrcella beat him to it. “Will you allow us to get into our bedrolls first?”

 

They did, and Arya secured their wrists together before shackling them to the wall. The chain was long enough that they didn’t have to sit uncomfortably, but both of their arms were elevated slightly above their heads. They would undoubtedly have aches in the morning, but then, so would everyone else.

 

**

 

Jaime didn’t say much during the long days of riding, but Myrcella was full of questions. “I didn’t get a lot of information about anything outside of Dorne,” she explained to Arya. “Not on purpose, or anything, but they tend to keep to themselves, you know? Me and Trystane – my betrothed – spent most of our time in the gardens. I wrote to Mother often, until Joffrey died, but after that I didn’t learn much. Father has told me some, but it seems I’m still missing quite a bit.”

 

Arya didn’t see the harm in telling her some things. “My half-brother, Jon, holds the North,” she told her. “He’s King in the North, according to the lords there. Sansa – do you remember? – is Lady of Winterfell. She was married to your uncle Tyrion briefly, until she escaped King’s Landing.”

 

“I had heard of their marriage,” Myrcella said. “Uncle Tyrion is kind, I’m sure he never harmed her.”

 

“He didn’t,” Arya assured her. “Both your uncle and my sister agree on that matter.”

 

Myrcella’s eyebrows shot up. “You’ve seen my uncle?”

 

“He’s Hand of the Queen for Daenerys.” Arya was a little surprised that she didn’t know. “Surely you would have learned that when Dorne joined her?”

 

“Like I said, no one told me much.” Myrcella bit her lip. “How is he?”

 

“He is well.” Arya didn’t tell her about his bond with Rhaegal; it seemed to be a good thing to keep secret, including Jon’s bond with Viserion.

 

When Myrcella asked how she met Daenerys, Arya told her she found her in Meereen just before she crossed the Narrow Sea, but didn’t explain why she had been in Essos to begin with. She told her the Freys were dead, but not that they died at Arya’s hand. Myrcella wasn’t the one she was worried about hearing; Jaime was clearly listening, and if for some reason he decided to return to Cersei, she wanted him to know as little of use as possible. Everything Myrcella learned was already common knowledge in Westeros, or would be quite soon.

 

What Myrcella seemed most interested in was Gendry. She waited a few days before turning the conversation to him. Gendry was riding ahead with one of the Tyrell men, an older man named Allen whose father had been a blacksmith. “How did you meet your Gendry?”

 

_Your Gendry._ Arya found that she liked that sound of that very much. “We met when we escaped King’s Landing, shortly after my father…” She didn’t finish her sentence, and Myrcella didn’t make her. “I disguised myself as a boy and travelled with the Night’s Watch. Gendry was the only one who realized I was a girl, other than the recruiter who rescued me in the first place. We protected each other for a long time, until we were separated. He found me again after I took Riverrun with the help of the Free Folk.”

 

“The Free Folk?”

 

“Wildlings,” Arya corrected herself. “My brother saved them from the Night King and his army beyond the Wall, and they promised to follow me. When everything is over, Jon has promised them land in the North to settle on.”

 

Jaime scoffed for the first time in days. “The Night King isn’t real.”

 

“He is,” Arya said to him coolly. “His Army of the Dead has already destroyed over half of the Wildling population. The remainder were allowed to come over the Wall in return for their promise not to raid the people of Westeros. My brother almost gave his life for theirs.”

 

Jaime rolled his eyes. “It’s a fairytale, girl.”

 

“Have you seen them?” Myrcella asked.

 

Arya tried to hide her surprise at the question. She’d expected Myrcella to listen to her father more than a girl she had only known briefly, and a long time ago at that. “I haven’t,” she said honestly, “but the men of the Night’s Watch have. Before we came to King’s Landing, my father executed a deserter who died swearing they killed his friends. Many more of them have fought the dead since then, including Jon. He killed one White Walker, but there are several left, including the Night King.”

 

Myrcella had more questions, Arya was sure, but Jaime cut them both off. “Even if what you say is true, the Wall has stood against all threats for thousands of years. Why is that meant to change now?”

 

“It’s weak,” Arya said. This was the moment, she realized, that she had to plant the seeds in his head if she and the North hoped to gain his support. “The Wall is weaker than it has ever been, and not just because of a lack of men to defend it. Structurally, it is fragile. The long summer melted enough of it that, even now that winter is here, it is not as strong as it was. The spells that protected it before weakened with it, and the Night King is a magical being as well. Westeros is at risk, as is everyone in it, if nothing is done.”

 

Jaime swung around in his saddle to face her fully, somewhat awkwardly due to the shackle around his ankle anchoring him to Barry, another Tyrell man’s, horse. “Then why are you fighting my sister? Why not focus on the Night King if he is such a threat?”

 

“Westeros must be united against him,” Arya answered calmly. “You know your sister better than anyone else in the world, Ser. Tell me, even if she believed the threat was real, would she be willing to put aside her pride to fight with the rest of us? Could she let go of the hate she holds for my family in order to save Westeros?” When Jaime said nothing, she continued, “Cersei killed Margaery Tyrell, and as good as killed your youngest son alongside her. You know as well as I that her mind is clouded with power. Even with almost all of Westeros turned against her now, she clings to the Iron Throne. She closed King’s Landing off of the rest of the country to force Daenerys’ hand. She will not relinquish that power without bloodshed, and much of it. You know it, or you would have returned to her after you took Riverrun from the Tullys.”

 

“So what?” Jaime spat. “You remove my sister from the Throne and put your precious Dragon Queen there, and then all of Westeros marches North to fight a myth? War is never that easy, little girl, and you full well know that.”

 

Arya fixed him with a grey stare, and put all of her controlled fury into her words. “I learned that when I watched my father lose his head to his own sword,” she said quietly. “I learned it again when I arrived at The Twins on the night of my uncle’s wedding just to watch my brother’s direwolf’s head be mounted onto Robb’s body and paraded about the courtyard. And if I hadn’t learned it before, I certainly learned it when I almost lost my own life in Braavos to the Faceless Men.” She saw Gendry turn from the corner of her eye, but kept her eyes locked on the Kingslayer’s. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t know what war does, Ser. I did what I had to in order to survive.”

 

Jaime’s gaze softened slightly, but he still didn’t look away. “I’m afraid that you put far too much faith in your own skill. Little girls don’t survive in Westeros without help.”

 

“Oh, I had help in Westeros,” Arya agreed. “It was Essos that I was only ever truly alone in. But Ser Jaime? Essos is no less cruel than Westeros is.”

 

Jaime had nothing left to say to that, and Myrcella had long since fallen silent, eyes wide at the exchange. Gendry dropped back between Arya and the other man, and took her hand. And then Arya realized that she had never quite told him everything that the Faceless Men had done to her.

 

_Soon,_ she thought. If there was anyone in the world who deserved the truth, it was Gendry. Even more, he might be the only person she had left that she trusted with the story.


End file.
